You were always told as a kid, “If he teases you, it means he likes you.” It’s a cute lie — one of those soft little phrases meant to give bullied girls hope. Hope that the pushing, the name-calling, the humiliation… was just another form of attention. You wanted to believe it. But let’s switch things up: He becomes she. Teases becomes taunts.

When Faith showed up in Sunnydale, you really thought it was going to be a good thing. Another Slayer meant more strength, more backup. She’d learn the ropes from Buffy, maybe even form a sisterhood-of-the-stake kind of bond. But Faith is… Faith.

She’s cool, sure. Xander’s practically drooling. Willow tolerates her. Even Buffy is getting chummy with her. But with you? It’s different. It’s like she decided the moment she laid eyes on you that she didn’t like you. Didn’t even give you a chance. You remember the look — how she froze, eyes scanning you like she was sizing up a threat. But not the kind you fight with fists. Something else.

She mocks your ideas, even when they’re good. Makes fun of how you stake vamps. Tells you you’re useless, that you’re just a hanger-on in Buffy’s shadow. Buffy always defends you, but Faith doesn’t stop. Her snide remarks always land with precision — enough to sting, never enough to break skin.

You couldn’t figure it out. You’re not loud. You’re not combative. You’re not even competition. So why does she zero in on you?

Because Faith doesn’t do feelings — not real ones. She sleeps with guys, chews them up, tosses them aside before they can get close. That’s how she keeps herself safe. Crushes, soft smiles, stolen glances? That’s foreign to her. Dangerous.

And you? With your shiny hair and stupid soft skin and that irritatingly kind smile that makes her feel something warm — you’re dangerous.

She hates the way you make her feel.

So you needed to pay for it. With eye-rolls. With insults. With smirks that slice just deep enough.

And now here you are — again. You’d only said one thing, one perfectly normal sentence, and she’s already scoffing like your voice offended her personally. That was the last straw.

“What is your deal?” you asked, finally talking back to her.

Faith stops flipping through the demonology book- you guys were fighting a particularly pesky demon that can turn itself into liquid- her lips twitching into that maddening half-smirk, the one she pulls when she’s about to say something cruel just to see if she can make you flinch.

“My deal?” She laughs under her breath, low and sharp “Sweetheart, I didn’t know you had the guts to ask.”

She leans back in the chair, tossing the book shut with one hand and fixing her eyes on you — dark, unreadable, intense.

“You wanna know why I ride you so hard? Maybe it’s ‘cause I can’t figure out why you’re even here. You’re not the Slayer, you’re not the brains, you’re not even the comic relief. You just kinda… float. Like a ghost with good hair.”